


Gilded Collar

by ktula, Splintered_Star



Series: Undead [3]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Human/Vampire Relationship, Knifeplay, M/M, Petplay, Praise Kink, boot kink, murder of an npc, references to disordered eating, self-injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktula/pseuds/ktula, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splintered_Star/pseuds/Splintered_Star
Summary: Ren is wind and smoke and fog, power and blood singing across his skin. He feels everything and nothing all at the same time, everything stretching out before him in a vast infinity of possibilities--everything narrowing down to a point, to a final destination, to the one thing that he wants more than anything else.He slides to a stop in front of Hux’s rooms.





	Gilded Collar

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd and cheerleaded by the incomparable deadsy. Thank you. <3

The servant works, grudging and angry. He would rather work anywhere but here—and who can blame him?—but debts are debts and when the Vampire Lord Snoke comes to collect, one pays in money, in work, or in blood.

He has no money and fears paying in blood, so work it is. Most humans in the castle are in the same situation—servants working off debts or working to avoid debts. They’re all miserable together. 

Most are, at least—and at that thought, the servant snarls a little to himself. There is one notable exception—the one traitor who wanted power and influence enough to sell out his entire species.

The liaison, Hux.

The servant hates him, a deep burn along his bones, all of the hatred he cannot direct at his master redirected to the traitor himself, to his brilliant red hair and the haughty way he carries himself, to the silver and finery he drapes himself in, as though he’s thumbing his nose to all of them at once—to the other servants, who cannot afford such silver, and the vampires, who cannot touch him.

(There is no point to hating the vampires—monsters and demons all, they can only be what they are. But Hux, the human who chose this life, who _chooses_ this life, who willingly became the pet of beasts…)

All of his anger and vitriol about Hux spills out, especially when drunk—elaborate fantasies of vengeance and threats he never intends to carry out...except that he talks about them often. He’s talking about them now, a series of threats muttered under his breath as he scrubs the floor.

He, perhaps, should have been more careful about who was listening.

There is a growl, deep and scraping, fingers dragging across a tomb. The servant startles and stares around, but he cannot find the source of the noise.

Until he looks - _up_ -

 

 

Ren drinks.

The servant’s blood is warm in his mouth, flooding with the frantic beats of the man’s heart, a frantic pounding in their veins. It’s been so long since he’s indulged like this, so long since he’s drunk his fill—Snoke thinks it classless, to gorge like a beast. But it is not forbidden, as long as Ren doesn’t make a habit of it.

And Snoke won’t notice a servant or two missing, anyway.

The servant’s heartbeat slows—slows—stops.

Ren unlocks his jaw and lets the servant’s body drop to the floor. His mouth is wet with blood, smeared on his lips and chin—his body is—his body is— 

_warm so warm so full so—_

_—so hungry_

He shivers, and he feels every stitch of clothing against his skin. He licks his lips to gather up spare blood, laves his tongue down his chin and then down onto his neck, laps remnants from his collarbone. It doesn’t matter if he misses any.

He’s had more than enough blood.

He is hungry for something else, now.

 

Ren is wind and smoke and fog, power and blood singing across his skin. He feels everything and nothing all at the same time, everything stretching out before him in a vast infinity of possibilities—everything narrowing down to a point, to a final destination, to the one thing that he wants more than anything else.

He slides to a stop in front of Hux’s rooms, fog and then flesh, overbalancing and nearly falling over, feet bracing on the stone floor as he pulls himself back into corporealness. He wants to rip the door open, demand attention—but the denial is sweet, the knowledge that he can but won’t. 

Even that damned silver door knocker is hardly an annoyance now. He is all powerful, he is unstoppable. He has blood singing in his veins and he is drenched in it, every part of his body alive. He can feel the heat of the blood in his face, knows that he’s flushed. His lips are plump, hypersensitive.

He could punch the door down just as soon as knock—but he knocks anyway, reaches for the silver knocker and thrills as he wraps his fingers about it, raps it smartly against the door.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

(He could hold onto it forever when he feels like this. His hand is sizzling and his flesh is healing simultaneously.)

 

Hux lets him in. Ren’s not sure what he would have done if Hux hadn’t.

“Ren, why are you—”

“One of the servants,” Ren growls, stalking into Hux’s rooms. He feels bestial, feels feral, words coming out ragged, out of order in his mind. “They threatened you.”

(He hardly feels the silver. He’s surrounded by it, surrounded by Hux’s shiny baubles, every single shelf and wall space taken up by something that shimmers—but he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. He feels nothing.)

“Servants always threaten me, Ren.” His silver-green eyes track over Ren’s face, lingering on his flush cheeks and lips. “What of it? None of them are ever brave enough to act on it.”

Ren’s fangs ache, his lips pulled back in a snarl. He has so many teeth, and he wants to bite but not feed, wants to devour but not kill, wants—

Hux narrows his eyes at him, something flickering in his expression that Ren cannot name.

“You killed them. And drank.”

Ren nods. Hux smells sharp and—god, every sense is sharper, he can taste Hux’s breath from across the room, he’d forgotten what being fed _felt_ like, how goddamn sensitive he was afterwards, how much he could _feel—_

“I thought it was forbidden,” Hux says, casually. Bored.

“I make my own choices,” Ren snarls. The words are poorly enunciated—his teeth take up so much space, his tongue is engorged and thick in his mouth.

“Ah,” Hux says, examining his nails. Like he knows, that Snoke has forbade them from this, that Snoke thinks the reliance on blood is weakness.

Like he knows how much Ren aches, all the time. How his stomach twists. How his body withers.

Like he knows how Ren feels right now: everything, all at once.

“You killed them,” Hux repeats. He looks up, and his eyes pierce through to Ren’s soul, or whatever lies in its place. “For me?”

Ren nods his head. He wants to speak, but he fears it will come out too quickly, the words falling over themselves. The inside of his body is so _alive_ and he’s not sure he remembers how to handle it anymore. The blood is rushing so hard in his veins that Ren can hardly hear anything.

(He’s been starving for so fucking long.)

“Like you’re my guard dog.” Hux smirks, very slightly. He looks Ren up and down. “Or...my pet.”

It’s almost a joke, like he’s _teasing_ , and Ren should feel demeaned and insulted and he is, and yet, and yet—

Ren shudders, something sweet and warm curling at the base of his spine. Hux—pauses, staring, for a moment. And then he pushes, because Hux always pushes, finds the boundaries of the rules and _shoves—_   

“You like that.” Hux steps closer, his eyes dark and focused. “Being my pet.”

Ren feels seen, flayed open, splayed bare. He licks his lips, tastes every particle of the air. Hux is so close and Ren is frozen where he stands.

Hux takes a step closer, reaches out. Grabs Ren between his legs, his grip firm and unhesitating. Ren’s legs shake, because—oh, he’s hard, it feels _good_ , it’s been so long—

Hux breathes in, once. Ren can hear his blood kick, the way he swallows. Ren wants to put his lips on the vein in his throat—not to bite, not now when he’s so full, but just to lick at his skin, to feel Hux’s blood pumping in his veins. To taste him completely.

“Good boy.”

... _oh_.

Ren whines, the noise soft and wet in the back of his throat. Hux smirks.

(This close, Ren can feel the faintest shiver down Hux’s spine.)

“You like that, do you? Knowing that you’ve been a good boy for me?” Hux whispers in his ear, and it’s all that Ren can hear, his breath all he can feel. “I think you’ve earned a treat.”

Ren pants, even though he doesn’t need to, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He’s eager to be on his knees, to lick up all of Hux’s scent, to drink down that vitality. It’s so different from blood, he needs it so badly—

“If you’re going to be a dog, then you can take your pleasure by rutting against my leg like one.”

Ren stills. This wasn’t—this isn’t—he doesn’t—but he _does_ , he does, he _wants—_

"And since you've been very good," Hux purrs, "I'll even let you come."

Ren is on his knees before Hux has finished his sentence, Ren is bowing his head before Hux, Ren is—Ren feels his heart beat, once—just once—in his chest, and he feels _full_.

Hux presses his boot up against Ren's crotch, and—this would be enough, Ren thinks, just this, this is—then the boot slides back, pulling away, _depriving_ him—

"What do you say?" Hux purrs, and humiliation races along Ren's skin.

He swallows, licks his lips. "Thank you." An expectant pause and Ren burns, burns, this is hell but hell wouldn't be so _good_. "....thank you for letting me come, sir."

Hux—well, it wouldn't be called a smile. Not on Hux's face. But it makes Ren shiver all the same with the knowledge that Hux is _pleased_ with him.

"Good boy," he says, and Ren's head swims with it. "You can start.”

Ren curls over Hux's leg, his hips shifting like the animal Hux calls him, and fuck, it's—it's good, he always forgets how _good_ it is—

A hand lights in his hair and he freezes. Hux chuckles. "Keep going," he purrs and sounds almost fond. "Keep going, Ren. Don’t waste it."

Ren hesitates, shifts again, and _ugh_ , he wishes it wasn't so good but it is, it fucking is. There's irregularities on Hux's boots—straps, buckles, metal fastenings, and if Ren isn't careful, he'll snag his pants on them, but if he is careful, it's not nearly _enough_ and he wants this so much, it's so rare that he is fed and hard and able to come—

"Look at you," Hux says. "Debasing yourself for me."

Fuck, if he looks up at Hux it'll be over, it'll all be over, and he isn't sure he wants it to end yet or—

—he would stay like this forever, he thinks, half delirious with it. He _would_ : stay bound and humiliated and hard on his knees, forever and ever—

—but he can't, he can't, the blood will fade and the pleasure with it, Hux will hunger and age and die and this will end—

Hux wrenches his head up, pulling his hair, and frowns down at him.

"Don't waste the opportunity." The faintest softening, a gloved hand against his lip.

Ren slumps down as soon as he's released, taking a breath he doesn't need. Don't waste the opportunity, Hux says. Focus on the moment, instead of the infinite future where this moment will have ended

(For the first time in a very long time, he almost misses being human)

Ren focuses. He narrows everything down to this moment, to this room, to Hux seated in front of him and the uneven friction of Hux's boot between his legs. Focuses on the weight of his own cock, the screech of the wild blood through his veins. How _pleased_ Hux will be if Ren does as he asks—and it's this that prompts him to continue.

The first thrust feels like a mockery of humanity, of all the things Ren once had and then cast aside, but he can feel the slight exhalation of Hux's breath, and it's...heavier than it usually is.

The hand settles in his hair again and he feels the fingers twitch, very slightly

The thought of Hux's pleasure—the pulse in his ears of Hux's blood—fuck, it's almost better than the pressure, almost enough—

He ruts against Hux's boot again, and he can hear it, just barely, the change in Hux's pulse. Does it again. And again.

His body remembers. His body remembers how to be human even though he's cast it aside, his body remembers what it is to want, his body remembers the lust that used to coil in his gut and—and that part is real, he realizes, shuddering against Hux's leg. That part is real.

Fuck, he's close. He's close, he wants, he _wants_ —

The hand slides though his hair, like he really is Hux's pet, beloved and indulged, and—

—oh—

_oh_ , it's good, and he's—he's whimpering, whining, rubbing and he can feel his pants catch but it doesn't matter, it doesn't—

His fingers clench against Hux's leg. He’s coming. It’s a full-body sensation—he never feels those anymore, it’s so—it’s so overwhelming—his chest clenches and his heart stops, his blood ceasing to move in his veins, everything—everything seizing within him and sucking him in, jettisoning his humanity, his blood, his energy, his soul—casting it out to the stars—gouts and gouts of it draining from him, his body shuddering and twitching and the remaining breath rushing out of him in a gust so intense that it feels as though his lungs have collapsed—

"Yes, good," Hux whispers above him. "I knew you could be good for me, pet."

Ren whimpers again. He feels—wrung out, empty even as he is full, and—

Hux pulls his head up again, gentle, one hand at his chin—something flickers in his expression like a curtain in the wind. He—

He pulls Ren close, moves him so that his head is against his thigh. Ren twitches, expecting to have his throat fucked while he's limp and full—but no, Hux just lays him there and pets his hair until Ren slumps, weak as if he were starving once more.

(It was supposed to last longer, why didn’t—why didn’t it—?)

 

"Are you hungry?" Hux asks.

Ren blinks.

"I have a knife," Hux says, but he can't possibly be offering what Ren thinks—what Ren hopes—he's offering...

But Hux looks—awkward. Uncomfortable with the offer, or perhaps just the offering of it.

Ren's lips twitch up. "I could drain you dry," he says, but he doesn't put any bite into the words.

"Then you wouldn't have this anymore," Hux replies and that—that helps. Whatever it is that Hux is struggling with, letting him assert power back has helped.

Ren nods. Hux pulls a knife out and his glove off, slicing a long cut into the meat of his finger, and then again into the finger next to it. He holds them both out to Ren, his blood sharp and sweet and fresh and—

Ren doesn't even think about it before licking the sweet blood from his fingers, like he really is a beloved pet—it doesn't even burn with humiliation anymore, just with—with whatever this is, this feeling that is burning in his veins, this—

Then Hux—pets his hair, lets him open the wounds wider and lick his fingers clean.

It—he's not hard, he doesn't even want to be, not anymore, not when he’s so fucking depleted from the last time—but he's shuddering and whimpering and this, this is good.

Hux lays his other hand on the back of his neck, the weight against his skin like a collar.

"I have you," Hux whispers, and Ren thinks—

Ren thinks he could worship this man.

His blood is so good, so good on Ren's tongue, and Hux is—Hux is letting him, Hux is letting him have this, and it's like Ren's entire body is warm even though he's been cold for decades.

Ren will let Hux have him. Ren will let Hux think he keeps him as a pet. He's seen some of the things the humans like to call their own—snarling, spitting things, more wolf than dog, prone to biting their owners as much as they are to biting anything else—and isn't Ren more elegant than that, in the end? Isn't Ren more than that, in the end?

(Won't Ren make Hux proud, like this, to not have a spitting animal as a pet, but to have something else entirely, something _inhuman_?)

Later, he'll deny these thoughts and swear his loyalty to the Lord who made him—

—but that is later, and this moment is infinite, and so Ren lets himself be.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Star can be found on tumblr at [splinteredscript](http://splinteredscript.tumblr.com/) and on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/Splintered_star)
> 
> ktula can be found on tumblr at [heyktula](http://heyktula.tumblr.com/) and on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/heyktula)


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